The Aftermath
by WednesdayMorn
Summary: Orelthel, the Morning Star's sister, was dead, so why were there sudden whispers of her return? Lucifer had killed her, there was no way she could've survived an angel blade to her grace, so why were Hell's armies suddenly searching for a girl named Deborah Messinger? Who was she? More importantly, what connection did she have with Heaven and Hell and a little angel named Castiel?
1. Prologue: Falling Star

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing other than my original characters and anything you might not recognize.  
Supernatural and everything that pertains to it belongs to Eric Kripke.

_No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

"Deborah Moss," said a voice, soft and loving, accented with a gentle, British brogue. "It's not her true name, though," the voice corrected itself, turning dejected, "but it'll do for now, I suppose. We'll have to change that last name nonetheless—make it harder for them to find her and all that."

There was a heavy exhale soon after—a weary, feminine sigh.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. His Other-Half was sometimes far too schmaltzy for his liking, but he was being a nasty little hypocrite right now and he knew it—so he really didn't have any room to talk.

There were days when Gabriel would sweep his Other-Half off her feet and disappear with her to the ends of the universe, lavishing her in jewels and fancy clothes, loving every inch of her body, letting his grace reach out to embrace her's…

Not today, though. There was no time for romance, not with an oncoming storm of Hell's elite headed their way. The little cottage they found themselves in would only last so long against an attack of demons, no matter how many wards and sigils were in place.

They were working on a tight schedule; the birth of Deborah Moss had already gotten out to the ends of Hell and back. It was only a matter of time before a swarm of black-eyed demons (or worse) came crashing through the threshold with the sole purpose of killing the newborn babe.

That of course, could not—_would not_—happen.

There was a reason Gabriel's name meant "_strong man of God_." He would take down Hell's worst singlehandedly if the need for it arrived, which he sincerely hoped it would not. Strong man of God or not, he never liked being in the center of conflicts.

"Rosie, just grab the kid and let's _amscray_," Gabriel told the owner of the British tone, Rosiel—the Angel of Youth, the Guardian of Innocents—his Rosie-Rose, and his personal Cherry Lollipop.

The petite redhead, who had once worn a look of tranquility, quickly changed her facial expression with the disgruntled crinkling of her button nose. The content smile she had once worn quickly turned into a small scowl, and her blue eyes flashed in anger shortly before turning icy, sending a glare at the honey-eyed Archangel standing beside her.

Gabriel—_smartly_—took a step back upon seeing his Other-Half's upset features. Being with Rosiel since before the creation of humanity had made him adept at when to back off when she was caught in one of her moods.

The saying, "_Hell has no fury like a woman scorned_," was practically conceived with the notion of Rosiel in mind.

"I cannot _simply_, as you so **crudely** put it, '_grab the kid_,'" Rosiel spat in a quiet hiss as not to awaken the sleeping Deborah.

The aforementioned Deborah lay asleep in a nest of blankets and pillows on an old, rickety cot, wrapped up tightly in a pink blanket—"Like a little burrito," Gabriel had cooed earlier in a slight moment of fault.

Rosiel knew that her Other-Half secretly loved children, but he was acting tough and unconcerned just for show—it was irritating for her. She did not like it when he feigned to be someone else.

Hearing her thoughts and feeling her emotions through the special bond they shared, Gabriel opened his mouth to protest as well as to hand out an order that Rosiel, as his second in command, would not be able to refuse, but the unexpected sound of fluttering wings made him keep his mouth shut.

With the fluttering of wings, an angel always followed, and right now, that was certainly **not** in the plans. Out of all the angels of Heaven, only Gabriel and Rosiel knew of Deborah's existence, so who—

"I'd be more than happy to take _Orelthel_ off your hands," said a British voice with a similar cadence to Rosiel's voice.

Oh, of course it would be **_him_**. Gabriel snorted crossly.

From a shadowy corner of the dark, moonlit room, the angel known as Balthazar emerged, running a hand through his perfectly (purposely) disheveled blond hair. His designer jeans were neatly pressed, encasing his long legs, and his black blazer was flawless, covering a tight gray shirt overtop a lean torso. An arrogant look danced across his blue eyes, and on his lips stretched out a rather impish smirk—though it quickly melted into a genuine smile as he approached the little cot piled high with blankets.

All the while, Balthazar ignored the looks of incredulity that both Gabriel and Rosiel were shooting him.

"Oh, little Orelthel," the blond angel said quietly, almost sadly, leaning down and letting his lips gently skirt across the skin of Deborah's cheek in greeting. "Look at you, so small and… _pink_."

"Brother, what are you doing here?" Rosiel was the first to ask, regarding the back of her twin brother's head with a look of distrust. She loved her brother dearly, there was no mistaking that, but his presence in the cottage was severely uncalled for…

How Balthazar had found out about Deborah, let alone gotten through the protective wards and sigils placed around the cottage, was beyond Rosiel. The demons and entities of Hell, Rosiel knew, would know of Deborah through the connection she shared with Lucifer, but Balthazar, being a fellow Angel of the Lord, had no reason to know about the little human currently sleeping snug as a bug in her fortress of blankets.

Balthazar ignored his sister's question, ignored the stares that were burning holes in the back of his head, ignored the distrustful emotions that he was feeling through his sibling bond with Rosiel. He stayed leaning over Deborah, studying her little human features, marveling at the fact that humans could be so very small and helpless when first brought into the world.

Their creation was far more complicated than that of an angel's. Humans needed to grow, to learn, to decide right from wrong—they had the luxury of choosing their path in life, a luxury an angel did not have without severe consequences.

They had free will, which was something most envious, especially to someone like Balthazar.

Deborah's eyes were closed, hidden behind petal-soft lids, but Balthazar knew that they would be a striking blue once she opened them. The tuffs of feathery hair on her head were a light caramel brown that would surely darken as the years went by, which was a pity; Balthazar thought that little Deborah would look lovely with light colored hair. Her skin, soft to the touch, smelled of milk and flowery powder—her complexion was fair, but being a newborn gave her skin a rosy tint.

She was a doll, and Balthazar could already see her having him wrapped around her fingers, which was a thought that made him smile halfheartedly.

"How did you find out about this?" asked Gabriel impatiently, his golden eyes narrowed, a look of uncertainty shining brightly within their depths.

The spell, for Balthazar, was broken.

"I've got friends in high places," said Balthazar with a roll of the eyes, turning around and standing up to his full height, which towered over Gabriel and Rosiel's short stature.

"What do you mean you have friends in high—_Balthazar_," said Rosiel with a gentle gasp, a look of realization shining in her eyes as she stared up at her brother. "You've been summoned?" she asked next, her words dripping with joyous disbelief.

Balthazar nodded, a rather pleased look flashing across his eyes for just a moment.

"But everyone thinks you're dead," said Gabriel skeptically.

"Obviously I wasn't careful enough when I faked my death, but then again our Father is _God_—he who is all knowing, _blah, blah, blah_," said Balthazar with a bored look in his blue eyes.

Leave it to Gabriel to ruin what would have been a good moment.

"So you're here to help?" asked Rosiel, a small smile on her lips.

"I'm here to help, and here to stay," said Balthazar with a small smile. "Father has informed me of what's to come and what it is that we will be expecting."

"Who else knows about this?" asked Gabriel, his skeptic eyes never leaving Balthazar. However, his tense shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit. It was a relief to know that their Father had personally called upon Balthazar to help them with this problem, but it wasn't enough to settle Gabriel's nerves.

Balthazar was, and always will be, a self-serving little bitch. He could not be trusted, at least not completely. The only person he was loyal to was himself. He had faked his death for a reason! He had grown tired of all the rules in Heaven, tired of serving underneath someone; he wanted to be his own boss, and so he left—but of course, Rosiel, being his twin sister, having a grace identical to his, knew that he was still alive, and through Rosiel, Gabriel also knew.

It was out of respect for Rosiel that Gabriel had never mentioned Balthazar's fake death to his other siblings, but if he needed to keep Balthazar in line, he now had something to blackmail him with—Balthazar did not want others to know that he was still alive… Or that he had stolen various Heavenly weapons upon his departure from Heaven...

Gabriel was not opposed to threatening Balthazar, and for Rosiel's sake, he hoped that it would never have to happen.

"Only you, Rosiel, and myself know about little Orelthel here," answered Balthazar seriously, before a sarcastic smirk flashed across his lips, and he added, "not including the ten demons I had to take out before getting here—you're welcome, by the way. I've just given us a few extra minutes before the cavalry arrives."

"Word spreads fast in Hell," mumbled Rosiel with a look of concern in her eyes as she stared down at Deborah, who now was beginning to stir in her sleep, roused by Balthazar's gentle touch.

"Well, when the Morning Star's twin sister decides to grace the earth with her presence once more…" the voice of Balthazar trailed off, a very sardonic tone to his tenor.

Gabriel sighed. "It's only a matter of time before word up above gets around too—for all we know, Michael probably knows about this already."

"Have you at least handled the situation down here?" asked Balthazar, regarding Gabriel and Rosiel with a clinical eye.

Rosiel was the first to nod, saying, "The parents are dead—"

Balthazar gave his sister a look.

"We didn't do it," Rosiel snapped, glaring at her brother, "demons did."

"It happened at the hospital," added Gabriel. "Mommy pops Deborah out, and then the room gets swarmed by demons. Everyone is dead within a few seconds—we were lucky enough to get the kid and zap out before they noticed us."

"Anyways," continued Rosiel, "the memories of all those who had anything to do with the Moss family have been erased—we've cleaned up thoroughly, I assure you."

Balthazar nodded, a look of approval flashing in his blue eyes.

"We better get moving," said Gabriel quickly. Turning to look at Rosiel, he added, "Rosie, if you'd be so kind as to… you know, do the thing."

Rolling her eyes at Gabriel, Rosiel stepped forward and reached into the nest of blankets, taking Deborah into her arms and cradling her against her chest as any overprotective mother would with their newborn babe. The baby began to fuss at being taken from the warm blankets, nose scrunching up in discontent, and lips parting ready to give out a shrill cry, but Rosiel quickly saw to it that Deborah was calmed. The redhead kissed the baby's forehead, whispering kind words, letting her influence ensnare the upset baby.

In seconds, Deborah was calm, with a drowsy expression on her little round face, and Rosiel smiled, a proud look in her eyes.

The Angel of Youth certainly lived up to her title. There was not a child that Rosiel could not sooth.

"All this time spent amongst man, and you'd think he'd learn how to hold a baby by now," Rosiel told her twin brother, giving him a look, one he returned with a soft chuckle.

"Rosie-Rose, you know I don't have that _magic touch_," said Gabriel with a grin, lifting up his hands and wiggling his fingers at Rosiel for emphasis.

Rosiel simply shook her head disapprovingly at her Other-Half's antics, but a small smile reached her lips nonetheless. She found Gabriel's odd quirks endearing… most of the time.

"You two make me want to vomit," sighed Balthazar, crossing his arms. "I don't think I can handle all this flirting."

"Well, get used to it buddy," said Gabriel with a teasing grin, patting Balthazar on the shoulder superciliously. "This is _nothing_, trust me. Your sister is a real—"

"If you finish that sentence, Gabriel, I swear to _Dad_ that I will take my angel sword and shove it up your—"

Balthazar tuned the couple out.

He was sincerely happy that his twin sister had found her Other-Half, but out of all the Angels of Heaven, _why_ did it have to be Gabriel? He was proud that his sister had been destined to be with an _Archangel_ rather than a common angel, but _Gabriel_… well, Balthazar supposed he had to be thankful that Rosiel wasn't meant for Raphael, or worse—Michael. _Although_, if his twin sister _had been_ bound to Michael instead of Gabriel that _would_ have had its advantages—what, with Michael being _Heaven's head-bitch_ and all that…

Nevertheless, Gabriel was still an Archangel, he was in the Ivy League, one-step down from God himself, and so Balthazar would not look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Well," he said, interrupting Gabriel and Rosiel's spat, "has Castiel been notified?"

The lighthearted mood quickly vanished.

"What _exactly_ has Father told you about our little… task," asked Rosiel carefully, looking at her twin brother with a clinical eye.

"He told me everything that I need to know," said Balthazar simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"Then you know why Castiel can't be made aware of Deborah," said Rosiel, giving her brother a look.

"Yes yes," said Balthazar airily, waving a hand in the air dismissively, "but don't you think that he _should_ be informed of Orelthel?"

"You know we can't go against our orders," said Gabriel with a look of disapproval in his honey colored eyes.

"Yes, I know that, but why does Father not want Castiel to take care of Orelthel? Castiel has more right to her than any of us—"

"She's not Orelthel, Balthazar," said Rosiel quietly, staring up at her brother with a look of sorrow in her blue eyes, "not right now, at least."

"Castiel needs to prepare for what's soon to come," said Gabriel cryptically, giving Balthazar a knowing look. "Orelthel—_Deborah_, would be a distraction. They will meet again once more, but not until Fate deems it right—and let me tell you, Lady Fate is a bitch, so it might take a while."

"I swear," sighed Balthazar in frustration, "we can bend the rules. We don't need to follow—"

"We cannot," snapped Gabriel, glaring up at Balthazar, a sudden look of contempt flashing in his golden orbs. "Not all of us can simply fake our deaths because we don't agree with—"

"Well at least I didn't runaway when things got too—"

"Balthazar," hissed Rosiel, giving her brother a disapproving look, "that's _enough_. And Gabriel, wipe that smirk off your stupid face. There is a time and place for that, and it is certainly not here nor now!"

Balthazar smirked at Gabriel, and Gabriel glared at Balthazar.

Rosiel sighed. "If this is how it's going to be from here on out, I can assure you that I will not hesitate to smite either of you—now say sorry!"

Balthazar and Gabriel remained silent, silently daring one another to say something to strike Rosiel's ire.

"I swear…" Rosiel trailed off softly in frustration, eyes narrowed as she looked from Balthazar to Gabriel. "Let's just go."

With a fluttering of wings and a snap of fingers, the cottage was empty. All that was left for the demons to find was a chocolate bar nestled within the nest of blankets.

The Archangel had left his mark—Gabriel had the last laugh.

* * *

**NOTES**

**1. Pairings:** Castiel/Deborah (Orelthel) | Gabriel/Rosiel | [**undecided**] Balthazar/OFC

**2. Orelthel:** _aur-êl-thêl | _**M****eaning:** Morning Star Sister

**3. Rosiel:** _rose-iell_ | **Meaning:** Daughter of Red-Haired One

**4. Deborah: **_de-bo-rah |_ **Meaning:** Bee

**5. Moss:** _m(o)-ss_ | **Meaning:** Saviour


	2. No Sense of Reason

**TWENTY-TWO YEARS LATER**

The sharp, cutting sound of glass shattering was what ultimately pulled Deborah Messinger out of a dream. It was not just any plain dream either, but a reoccurring one, something that she thought only ever happened in works of fiction, like in films or stories.

Unfortunately, unlike those reoccurring dreams in fiction that told their hosts what to do in regards to a crisis, or showed the path to a righteous journey, Deborah's dream confused her. It had no purpose, no story to tell, no secret to the future like a vision or something similar—it was just a collection of random images, sounds, and feelings. There was always the black silhouette of a man, the muffled sounds of a deep, gravelly voice, feathers of the purest black, and a pair of the most intense midnight blue eyes that Deborah had ever seen; eyes that stared at her knowingly, longingly, as if she were an old friend… maybe even a lover.

It gave her the creeps.

The reoccurring dream had been plaguing Deborah on and off for the past year now, and every time she woke up from it she always swore that the sound of rustling feathers rang in her ears for just a few seconds before the last tendrils of sleep evaded her completely.

Deborah had done her research, of course. Taking to the internet, she had looked for an answer as to what the imagery in her dream could possibly mean, but she never found anything useful—_black feathers present in a dream denoted evil, or could also mean strength_—Deborah had no idea what that could possibly mean, nor did she really care. So long as the dream didn't affect her cognizant life, then she was okay with it.

She had learned that "_shit happens_" and that she just needed to move on. There was no need to get worried over something she'd eventually grow out of.

It was just a dream after all…

The sound of something breaking—this time something that sounded suspiciously like wood—pulled Deborah out of her sleepy musings. Having been focused on her dream, she had forgotten all about the earlier sound that woke her up, the sound of glass shattering, so it was quite a surprise to hear what sounded like a wooden chair being smashed into a wall coming from downstairs.

Looking around her surroundings for a moment, the images of her dream quickly disappearing from her mind, Deborah yawned, and then sighed when she realized where she was. It seemed that she had fallen asleep at her desk—again.

_Ugh, sleeping in jeans and boots, not cool. I totally can't feel my toes_, thought Deborah as she ran a tired hand through her long brown hair, wiggling her toes inside her boots to get some feeling back into them. Looking down at her shirt, Deborah sighed in irritation upon seeing a dark, wet spot near her collar—_great, I drooled on myself_, she thought resentfully.

_I need to work on my sleeping schedule._

It wasn't uncommon for Deborah to fall asleep in her chair with her head resting on the cool, wooden surface of her desk, textbooks and papers scattered around her in an arch across the table's surface—especially on this particular week. Final exams were in the air, and Deborah was a very studious girl who usually locked herself in her room when she needed to study, but finals were not important right now.

On any other occasion she would have gotten right back to work after awakening from her nap, picking up where she left off in her studying, but the gradual sound of things being broken tore her thoughts away from anything related to college work.

_What the hell is going on downstairs_, Deborah pondered. It sounded like a war was in the works—maybe her older brother, Gabriel, was just playing video games in the den with the volume set to "_loud-as-fuck_." It was a Friday night after all—Friday nights in the Messinger household were always "Game/Movie Nights".

Game/Movie Nights tended to get a little violent with Gabriel around. One time he had lost against Deborah in a game of _Mario Kart_; bets had been made, and Deborah ended up cashing in $300 dollars and a new _iPhone_… needless to say, there was a hole in the wall where the game controller had gone through after Gabriel threw it.

A movie poster discreetly covered the hole now; Gabriel had refused to fix it—why? Deborah would never know. Her older brother was just kooky like that. He was a special case, but Deborah loved him nonetheless. He made things interesting in her otherwise boring life, and most important of all, he looked out for her. This was understandable and not at all surprising seeing as their parents were permanently out of the picture, but Gabriel did it genuinely and not out of a sense of duty, and Deborah couldn't be any more happier with the fact that she had an older brother who was her confidant, best friend, and protector.

Rising from her seat, Deborah stretched, her hands reaching for the ceiling. A large yawn left her lips, and after hearing a satisfying crack from her back, Deborah dropped her arms to her sides and walked out of her bedroom intent on investigating the source of all the commotion downstairs… only to be pushed roughly back into the room by none other than Balthazar Messinger, her uncle.

Balthazar was a tall, lean, French man, with blond hair, and very handsome blue eyes that always crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He was carefree and spoke his mind, acting sometimes like a rebellious teenager rather than the 40-something-year-old man he actually was, but despite the childish streak he sometimes had, he was very protective of his own, and responsible when he felt like being so. He spoke with a very proper British accent, though could curse up a storm if found in a foul mood.

A sarcastic little smirk was always on Balthazar's lips no matter what the occasion was, but this time, the smirk that Deborah was so fond of was gone. The concerned look on his face made him look years older than he actually was, and his clothes, which were always neatly pressed and without a speck of dirt on them, were wrinkled and disheveled, looking as if they'd been rolled around in dirt.

Questionable dark spots of liquid peppered Balthazar's chest, and Deborah's mind quickly started screaming, "_BLOOD_!"

What the hell was going on?

"Deborah, darling, pack a bag as quick as you can," said Balthazar anxiously, his British accent thick with concern.

Deborah just stared at her uncle with wide, confused eyes, watching him as he closed her bedroom door, locked it, then proceeded to walk up to her dresser and push it before the door so that it acted like a barricade.

"What are you doing?" asked Deborah, panic beginning to bubble up in her chest.

The noises from downstairs began to grow louder, and Deborah could swear that she heard a woman scream, which would mean that Rosiel, Gabriel's wife, was downstairs…

"Buying us some time," replied her uncle, "now c'mon—get a bag ready, we're leaving!"

Deborah was paralyzed for a moment, not sure what to do even though she had been told to grab her things. This scene just wasn't making any sense.

Had someone broken in?

If it turned out that someone was attempting to raid the house, what was Rosiel doing downstairs? Was Gabriel with her? Surely Rosiel wasn't attempting to take on a burglar all by herself, right? That woman was a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn't stupid enough to take matters into her own hands in such a situation—

"Deborah!" exclaimed Balthazar, snapping Deborah out of her thoughts. "What are you waiting for?!"

_I'm waiting for this to make sense_, thought Deborah cynically, before yelping in surprise as the door to her bedroom began shaking with the obvious efforts of someone trying to break in.

"Deborah, come on!" exclaimed Balthazar, his concerned features turning into ones of irritation, "GET MOVING!"

"What's going on?" yelled Deborah, running to her closet and grabbing the largest bag she owned, promptly filling it up with all the clothes she could get her hands on.

"You could say we're under attack—"

"No shit, but—"

The sound of multiple dogs barking interrupted Deborah, making her walk out of her closet to see what was going on—they didn't own any dogs. They were deep, hoarse barks, which indicated that the dogs were large. The door to her bedroom began shaking even more, and claw marks began appearing through the wood, splintering it, as if a bear was on the other side and had just clawed at the door.

Deborah's eyes widened and a horrified gasp left her lips. What the hell was that? Had a bear gotten into the house? Maybe it was wolves, which would explain the sound of dogs barking.

The Messingers' lived in a wooded area, but never had an animal gotten into the house! They had a moose wander into the backyard once; it had been a friendly moose, one that let Gabriel pet it, but threatened to kick him once he tried to jump onto its back. Apart from the moose, there were the usual deer that sometimes wandered into the yard, even a skunk and raccoon sometimes visited, but that was it in regards to wildlife trespassing in the Messinger's home.

"Don't just stand there!" exclaimed Balthazar upon seeing Deborah standing in the doorway of her closet, bag of clothes in hand, jaw dropped, and eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and fear as she watched her wooden door begin to break down.

_Claw marks—is this for real_, Deborah thought in muted horror, ignoring her uncle's commanding voice. _Maybe I'm just dreaming_—

An eerie howl that threatened to shatter the windows made Deborah jolt out of her stupor. She quickly dived back into her closet to finish packing her bag, muttering "what the fuck" repeatedly, like a mantra.

She had watched enough horror movies to know when to ask questions and when to get the fuck out, and right now, it was most certainly time to get the fuck out. She'd grill her uncle on what the hell was going on once she was in a safer place.

Now was not the time to play _20 Questions_ and get her ass mauled by a bear.

The barking of dogs began to grow louder, and with it, the door's resistance waned. When Deborah finally came out of her closet with her bag filled to the brim with random articles of clothing, the door began to shatter as if it were a pane of glass.

Whatever (because it certainly wasn't human) was on the other side of the door had finally succeeded in tearing the barrier down, but now there was the dresser to get through… that wouldn't last long.

"I've got my things, but how are we going to get out!" yelled Deborah in a hurry, staring up at her uncle with panic flashing in her blue eyes. "We need to get Rosiel and Gabriel—"

There was a loud, sudden bang—the dresser, having been pushed forward, was now on the ground.

"They'll catch up!"

Before Deborah could ask her uncle what he meant by that statement (or even peer towards her door to see what had broken into her room), Balthazar pressed two fingers to her forehead.

Everything stopped.

It was suddenly silent, and Deborah's vision became pitch black. A flash of heat that shot throughout her whole body made her gasp, and there was a fleeting moment of weightlessness. Suddenly, there was a tugging in Deborah's navel, and then unexpectedly her feet touched down on firm, wet soil.

That experience had happened in the span of a second, leaving Deborah dazed and confused, with a nauseating knot forming rapidly in her stomach. It felt like stepping off a _Tilt-A-Whirl_ that had been going a thousand miles per second… Deborah always hated that carnival ride, and now she would hate it even more.

The fluttering of wings suddenly rang loudly in her ears, distracting her for a moment, but only for a moment before the sounds of nature replaced it.

Deborah Messinger suddenly found herself standing in a meadow. The grass was tall; it reached her knees. There was a thick line of lush trees bordering the field, and the night sky was littered with millions of stars that glittered brightly without city lights outshining them. It was a beautiful sight, with wildflowers dotting the green grass, and the smell of honeysuckle floating gently in the cool nighttime breeze… sadly Deborah couldn't enjoy the scenery.

There were questions to ask, after all.

"Where are we?" Deborah asked quietly, shock beginning to settle in.

They were most certainly not in her bedroom anymore, which was for sure.

"French countryside," replied Balthazar as if it were nothing… as if they hadn't traveled thousands of miles in the span of a second.

_We were in Los Angeles… but now we're in France…_

"Oh really?" muttered Deborah nearly breathless, before keeling over and throwing up.

Balthazar sighed, crinkled his nose, and stepped away. As least she hadn't thrown up on his shoes… but she'd come close.

* * *

**NOTES**

**1. Messinger:** _mes-sin-ger_ | **Similar Word:** messenger

**2. Trivia:** Archangel Gabriel is most known for being God's messenger, hence the surname "_Messinger_".


	3. Fallen Archangel

The house was ruined.

Rosiel sighed as she stood in the middle of all the disorder, hands on her hips, her stance roaring anger and pain, made more evident by the livid tears coursing down her blood-splattered cheeks. She had been proud of her home—it was a house of two stories, with four bedrooms; the walls were crème colored with golden trim, and the furnishings were of the most elegant vintage Italian design that she had been able to get her greedy little hands on.

More importantly, it was her **home**—_their_ home, a place that she had built with the help of her brother and Other-Half, a place where she found bliss. It was her own little piece of Heaven where nothing could touch them.

It was all a mess now; all her hard work and effort into making a home, a safe haven… ruined.

Gilded mirrors were shattered, tables were overturned, and chairs (which had previously been used as hasty weapons) now laid broken on the ground in pieces. The stuffing had been ripped out of plush sofas, and now it all lay scattered across the floor like snow, dotted with red—the blood of those foolish to invade the Messinger's house.

Blood splattered nearly every surface, the thick, nearly black crimson substance (some of which had begun to pool on the wooden flooring as it oozed down from elevated surfaces) coagulating with the nighttime breeze that came in through various broken windows. The smell that radiated off it was simply fetid, resembling rotten flesh—like _death_, more or less

The walls all had claw marks, which made some of the wallpaper begin to peel in ribbons, and the wall that divided the kitchen with the dining room was broken completely, a rather large dog-shaped hole in the center of it.

The lustrous wooden floor, which was kept in tiptop shape, was now opaque and showed signs of a violent scuffle.

Twenty-two years of living a normal life, of living with a sense of peace, all gone down the drain, just like that—all over in a single moment.

Where had they gone wrong?

"Well, I suppose we couldn't keep living this charade for long," muttered Rosiel as she bent down to retrieve her angel sword from the corpse of a hellhound.

Three of those brutish animals (not including the five dead demons in the basement) had stormed through the house; all the size of your large average dog, with black matted fur and glowing red eyes, invisible to everyone except for the ones it was sent to retrieve; the ones that it was meant to take down to Hell.

Rosiel had killed two, while the remaining one (injured in the shoulder by her angel sword) scampered away; leaving a bloody trail behind it that disappeared into the woods surrounding the property. She would deal with that one later. There were more pressing matters to attend to now.

It seemed that the Morning Star had found Deborah once more, and since this attack hadn't been the quietest of ones, it was only a matter of time before Heaven became aware of their location—they would have to burn the house down and erase anything that could be traced back to them.

There was no other option. They couldn't hide in plain sight anymore. It had been foolish to think that they could in the first place, anyways.

_Damn_, thought Rosiel ruefully, looking around her destroyed home, _I really loved this house… at least the cars weren't destroyed. I'm gonna have to rent out a garage to keep those—_

Suddenly—almost unbelievably—the cell phone in the back pocket of Rosiel's shorts began to buzz with an incoming call, interrupting her train of thoughts. Rosiel hesitated, mulling it over, (_who could be calling her in such a time?_) before muttering "fuck it" and reaching into her back pocket, retrieving the phone and not even sparing the display screen a second glance as she pressed the phone against her ear. What more could happen after tonight, right?

She was wrong, of course.

Later, Rosiel would come to regret not checking who the incoming call was from, and at the same time she would thank her lucky stars that she hadn't checked it, because then she might not have answered if she'd known who exactly was calling her.

A very familiar, unwelcomed voice spoke through the line the moment Rosiel accepted the call, accented with a slight Indian accent, asking, "Rosiel?"

Rosiel's eyes narrowed, her hackles rising defensively as she said, "What do you want, _Kali_?"

The aforementioned Kali sighed, saying quietly, "I was told to call you—"

"By whom, if I may be so bold as to ask, your _majesty_," replied Rosiel mockingly, eyes narrowed as she cautiously made her way out of the living room.

"Gabriel."

Alarms began going off in Rosiel's head, so much, so that she nearly dropped her angel sword in surprise, and all but froze completely on the spot.

"How do you know that name," asked Rosiel quietly, her tone a mixture of wariness and dread.

"I figured it out," said Kali simply, her voice becoming somber, "There was once a time when he thought he could fool me into thinking he was the Trickster—that he was the lowly God _Loki_, but not anymore; an _Archangel_, **Gabriel** no less—who would have thought?"

_How the hell did she… I don't… FUCK!_

A bad feeling settled deep within Rosiel's very core—Gabriel had once made himself pass as the God of Mischief and Lies; it was a game for him, and his very own _witness protection program_. Taking on a new identity was how he'd been able to hide himself from Heaven's watchful eye… No one who knew him as Loki was supposed to know his identity except for the obvious select few who were in his little social circle.

Moreover, if certain people knew that an _Archangel_ was gallivanting on earth, well… it spelled trouble. Archangels were powerful, and there were various beings that would do anything in their power to trap themselves a genuine Archangel from Heaven… how had Kali found out about Gabriel? She wasn't supposed to know!

Taking in a deep breath to quell down the rising panic in her chest, Rosiel said, "You're losing me, Kali. What the _hell_ are you trying to say—no wait, more importantly: why the **fuck** would _Gabriel_ give you my number to call? I loathe you, and you me—do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I understand," sighed Kali, "but please, you must listen to me—"

"No, I shouldn't fucking listen to you," Rosiel spat, the past flashing across her mind's eye, making her pitiable attempts at calming herself down all for nothing. "You seduced him, you fucking four-armed bitch! Because of you, our bond will never be the same again! You tainted it with your filthy, fucking—"

"Who did he bond himself to!" yelled Kali rhetorically, her voice sounding strained. "At the end of the day, whom does he always come home to? You, Rosiel, not me—_you_; it's you! It has _always_ been you! What we had… it was nothing, it meant _nothing_ to him; he was just a man enticed. In the end, it's you who has his grace in her hands, while all I have are bitter memories of a simple fling that I could _never_ make into something more because he _ALWAYS _**REFUSED**!"

All was silent as the weight of Kali's words hung heavily in the air. In short, she had said that Rosiel had won Gabriel's affections, but it had never been a game, not to Rosiel. A game was a diversion from reality, something to entertain yourself with—the bond of angels was not a game, not something that could be tainted or trifled with, and yet it had happened…

Without their Other-Half, an angel was not whole, and right now, Rosiel felt like a part of her was missing.

"What the fuck do you want?" asked Rosiel in a rasping voice, her bottom lip beginning to quiver as all the emotions associated with Gabriel's betrayal came back to her. It had happened years ago, centuries in the past, and yet it still hurt as if it had just happened yesterday. Rosiel could feel her grace dimming just a tiny bit with the horrible memories and feelings resurfacing.

Gabriel—_her_ Gabriel, for a lack of a better word, had cheated… he had cheated with a _goddess_, no less. Kali, the Hindu Goddess of Time, Change, and Destruction—_hell yeah destruction_, thought Rosiel bitterly, _that bitch fucking destroyed what we had… it'll never be the same, not since she stepped between us._

"Gabriel is dead—"

The world suddenly stopped turning for Rosiel.

Her grace began pulsing in distress.

Her angel sword slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground.

Her hands began to tremble, and the air left her lungs.

Those three little words had not been what Rosiel had been expecting to hear, not in a million years.

"—_Elysian Fields Hotel_. Muncie, Indiana—that is where you'll find him," continued Kali, her voice quiet, despondent, "or what's left of him…"

Kali hung up, and Rosiel screamed, allowing her grace to leave her vessel for just a second, but a second was all it took for the house to fill up with a blinding white light—and then it burned, being engulfed in flames.

The Messingers—effectively—were no more.

* * *

**AN:** I have made it obvious where we stand when it comes to the show's timeline, and I will say this now: _I am totally going to put to use my creative license, so canon will be twisted to fit this story's plot._


	4. Balthazar, Angel of Heaven

Tears escaped Deborah's eyes as she stayed keeled over; she had her hands placed firmly on her knees, and her stomach (after much dry heaving) now felt empty and shriveled up. So many thoughts were running through her mind, but the one that stood out the most was how she and her uncle had appeared in a random French meadow in the blink of an eye. Teleportation seemed to be a very good candidate for an answer—but that seemed too farfetched to be plausible.

This wasn't _Star Trek, _after all.

A large hand began to rub circles on Deborah's back, helping her to calm down. She sighed, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this.

"Darling, you alright now?" asked Balthazar quietly, retracting his hand as Deborah stood up straight.

Deborah nodded, saying softly, "I'm fine." _I think_, she added mentally.

Nodding his head in understanding, Balthazar lifted up his arms and motioned for Deborah to step into his embrace, which she did without hesitation. She held onto him tightly, as if her very life depended on it (which unknowingly to her, it did).

Silence ensued as the two embraced, Deborah breathing in her uncle's familiar scent, his French cologne and very own personal musk making her feel safe because it was a scent she could associate with home, and home meant safety for her.

Quickly, her thoughts began to wander to Rosiel, and she prayed that her sister-in-law was alive and well. The redhead was like a mother to her, and Deborah would be devastated if something horrible happened to her sister-in-law.

And then there was Gabriel to think about…

Looking back, Deborah slowly began to realize that the last time she had actually seen her older brother was during Sunday dinner, and seeing how it was now Friday… well, where was he? She hadn't seen him at all these past few days.

She'd been so preoccupied with studying for her final exams that she hadn't really been a part of the family this past week, keeping to her books and her bedroom, sometimes even camping out at the library and overall not being home. Maybe she had just missed him, it tended to happen; sometimes she would be heading home while Gabriel would be heading out, and vice versa.

With everything that had happened tonight, Deborah began to think more in-depth about Gabriel's absence. Maybe it meant something; maybe there was a reason for why she hadn't seen him at all this week—could he be involved in all of the strangeness that had happened tonight?

During Sunday dinner, he hadn't hinted at going away—on the contrary, he'd gushed about a new cook book he'd bought titled 101 Chocolate Delights, and said that he was not going to leave the kitchen until he did every recipe in the book.

Was Gabriel missing? On the other hand, was Deborah just overanalyzing everything? For all she knew, maybe he was back at the house with Rosiel.

Maybe he **hadn't** left the kitchen at all, and that's why she hadn't seen him this week. Stranger things had happened, like the time he'd bought $1,000 dollars worth of powdered Jell-O so he could mix it into the Jacuzzi out in the backyard because he wanted to see if it was possible to make a gigantic Jell-O cup.

It didn't work out—Rosiel nearly skinned him alive for tainting the water.

Meanwhile, Balthazar sighed as he ran a hand through Deborah's brown hair. He closed his eyes, rested his cheek on her crown, breathing in her scent of strawberries and cream—her favorite shampoo. He began to reflect on his life as the Messinger patriarch. It had been a very interesting experience, living a normal life amongst the humans, that is. He had gotten comfortable with the routine he and his little family had created in the past twenty-two years—he played the hip uncle/adoptive father, Gabriel was the idiot older brother, Rosiel was the motherly sister-in-law, and Deborah was the baby that everyone cooed about... but it seemed that times were changing. The Apocalypse, it seemed, was upon them (just as Gabriel had foreseen all those years ago), and the Morning Star was doing everything in his power to get rid of his only weakness.

How Lucifer had found them, Balthazar would never know, but he would do everything in his power to keep Deborah safe. She was all the hope they had left—at least the only hope he cared to think about. There were two others though, two "hairless apes" as he liked to call them, currently trying to stop the Apocalypse. Well, their efforts were admirable… but they were still hairless apes, and therefore they were inferior, incapable of achieving anything. It was their fault that this stupid mess with the Apocalypse had started, anyways—the Righteous Man and the Fallen Brother… Balthazar had to scoff at that.

"You have questions, I presume," he asked gently, taking a step back from Deborah so he could look her in the eyes.

"How did we get here?" was the first question that flew out of Deborah's mouth. "It shouldn't be possible—I mean the mechanics of it… well, it's simply otherworldly!"

Balthazar almost smiled at Deborah. Her eyes had gotten wide, a glazed look in them that told him she was deep in thought, trying to figure out how it was possible for them to be in France when only moments earlier, they were in California.

"I brought us here, of course," he answered with a cocky grin, his voice taking on a teasing tone.

"I guessed as much," snapped Deborah, sighing in irritation, "but **how**? We live in Los Angeles! Now we are in France, just like that. We just traveled approximately _5,661 miles_ in like, a second! That… that's not possible—well, I mean, it could be, in some distant future were teleportation becomes the new method of transportation. But our technology is not even there yet. Particle—"

"Whoa, calm down, _Einstein_," interrupted Balthazar, chuckling softly.

"Oh shut up," muttered Deborah, glaring. "Just tell me how it's possible to travel 5,661 miles in so short a time!"

"First of all, how do you even know the exact amount of miles from California to France?" countered Balthazar, quirking up a curious eyebrow.

In truth, he expected nothing less from his ward, but it still surprised him how intelligent she was, even in a time when any other person would have frozen up, their thoughts a jumbled mess of confusion as they conjured up ideas on how it was possible to travel across the pond in the blink of an eye. But not Deborah. She had the ability to keep her thoughts in check while under pressure; her only fault was that when she grew nervous she either clammed up and refused to speak, or rambled on and on until someone stopped her.

"Simple math," said plainly, shrugging her shoulder, "now answer the question. You're stalling!"

Balthazar sighed. Yes, he was stalling, and for all the right reasons, of course. It wasn't exactly easy to tell someone that their whole life was built on lies, and that they weren't even human to begin with. This was a heavy burden on his shoulders, and he didn't even know where to begin to lessen the weight.

It had been decided that Gabriel would be the one to tell Deborah everything when the time came for her to know, because out of the three of them, Gabriel and Deborah were the closest. However, the idiot had been missing since Monday morning, and neither Balthazar nor Rosiel knew where he was.

It tended to happen—Gabriel would go off on his own for a couple of days to cause mischief; he still considered himself the Trickster after all, even though he always claimed to have retired—but he never stayed away for more than a few days. At least not without calling or texting Rosiel to let her know what was going on.

Somehow, Balthazar couldn't help but to think that tonight's attack had to do with his disappearance. Gabriel would never tell anyone where Deborah was, but that didn't mean that someone couldn't have traced Gabriel's whereabouts, leading back to the house, and subsequently to the little human they were supposed to protect.

_Well, might as well just spit it out,_ thought Balthazar, _she was meant to find out eventually._

"We flew, darling," explained Balthazar delicately, quickly adding, "very fast. Faster than the speed of sound and light and… whatever."

Deborah was silent. She stared up at her uncle as if he were crazy, her face taking on a surprised expression, which quickly melted into one of confusion and disbelief.

_Damn it_, thought Balthazar ruefully, not liking the look that Deborah was giving him. _When in doubt, call Rosiel_, he quickly thought next, and so he pushed his thoughts through the sibling bond he and his twin sister shared, but came across a wall.

Rosiel was blocking him out. He couldn't feel her. It made him begin to panic. If his grace couldn't feel its twin… something bad had happened.

He schooled his features so that Deborah wouldn't be made aware of his internal conflict, pushing down the swelling panic rising in his chest as his grace reached out in vain for its counterpart. He hoped to feel something, a flicker of recognition, anything really, but after trying for a few more times and getting nothing in return, it became apparent that Rosiel was purposely shutting him out.

_This is not good…_

"We flew?" asked Deborah after a moment of silence, an incredulous look in her blue eyes. "What do you mean that we _flew_? That's just… wow. Did you hit your head?"

Balthazar rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and taking a step away from Deborah.

"No," he replied nastily, "I did not _hit my head_. We flew—or more like **_I_** flew and brought you along with me."

A disbelieving laugh left Deborah's lips.

"We flew," she repeated, shaking her head, her voice taking on a sarcastic tone, "well, **you** flew—I can't believe this. Well, what now? Are you going to reveal a pair of wings or something? I imagine you flew using wings, right? Like a bird?"

"More like an _angel_, darling," said Balthazar icily, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

First, he could not feel Rosiel through their bond, and now Deborah was mocking him—never mind that for all he knew Gabriel could be _permanently_ missing… oh, he could not have that. It was time to set Deborah straight.

Before Deborah got a chance to spit out any more nasty remarks, Balthazar took in a deep breath, and with a flash of lighting that lit up the night sky behind him, shadows emerged from his shoulder blades, shadows that materialized into a giant pair of tan colored wings that matched his blond hair. The wings flared out as if he were about to take flight, stretching to their full wingspan of 18 feet, making Deborah take a staggering step back.

"What the fuck," muttered Deborah, her eyes wide as she stared at something that was simply impossible, "there are wings on your back… actual wings—I must be going crazy."

"You're not," assured Balthazar, tucking his wings back so that they folded neatly behind him. With a flourish he bowed, a triumphant smirk on his lips as he said almost mockingly, "My name is Balthazar, Angel of Heaven, at your service."

Deborah didn't know what to say.

"What… the… fuck…?" she stuttered, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion and disbelief, "Angel of _Heaven_?"

Was he serious?

Just as Balthazar was about to answer Deborah, there was a heavy flapping of wings, signaling the much anticipated arrival of his twin sister.

Rosiel appeared beside them, her face solemn and blood-splattered, and before anyone could get a word in edgewise, Rosiel gripped Balthazar's shoulder with one hand, and with the other, placed two fingers on Deborah's forehead.

With a gust of wind that disturbed the tall grass, and the sound of fluttering wings, the meadow was suddenly empty. All that was left behind of its previous inhabitants were a forgotten bag of clothes, drying vomit, and large, tan colored feathers.

It was time to get the ball rolling.

* * *

**NOTES**

**1. Deborah's Face Character: **Kat Dennings

**2. Rosiel's Face Character:** Evan Rachel Wood


	5. On Six Golden Wings

Where once stood a decimated motel on the side of the road, now stood a four star establishment by the name of _Elysian Fields Hotel_, re-constructed only days earlier. It was rather luxurious, with all the amenities of a hotel that catered only to the best of the best…, which was rather odd, considering that it was literally in the middle of nowhere and not listed in any registry.

Lush red carpets covered the grounds, and white modern furniture gave the hotel a very posh feel. Costly paintings hung on the patterned walls, and only museum-worthy decorations rested on side tables.

A single road passed right by the hotel, and it stretched on for miles with a dense forest on either side of it. The nearest town was probably a day's drive away.

It was a very secluded hotel, hidden from the world and only known by those few who'd been exclusively invited or informed about its location, which led to Rosiel and her two companions.

Arriving in the hotel's deserted parking lot, the trio appeared with a gust of wind and the sound of flapping wings. A weighty storm had just passed over the hotel moments earlier, which left the blacktop glistening with a fine coat of rainwater, and the reflection of the hotel's neon blue sign twinkled with specks of water, giving it the illusion of stars sparkling on its surface.

The smell of rainwater and wet concrete that swam in the nighttime breeze was refreshing, accompanied by the minty scent of pine needles and grass.

An intense sense of trepidation hung heavily in the air, made worse by the hesitant way Rosiel looked up at the hotel, a nearly anxious look about her as if she was waiting for someone to jump out and scare her. Her hands were balled up into tight fists at her sides, ready to strike out and attack. Her shoulders were tense, and various emotions flickered rapidly across her clear eyes.

Through the sibling bond Balthazar shared with his twin, he tried to search for the reason of his sister's hesitancy and conflicting emotions, but just like before he came across a tall, barbed wall—his sister was still shutting him out, and that did not bode well with him.

"Rosiel," he asked quietly, his wings rustling restlessly behind him, "what is going on?"

"Do you remember the note Gabriel left us on Monday morning," she asked softly, her eyes never leaving the hotel.

"Yes," answered Balthazar unsurely.

"It said that he'd be back by Wednesday night," continued Rosiel, almost bitterly adding, "But obviously that didn't happen.

"I called and texted him, of course—he didn't answer, and I ignored that. I should have known something was wrong—he never ignores my calls or texts, no matter what—but I didn't feel anything through our bond—my grace, it never gave away anything, didn't tell me that he was in any danger, and so I didn't worry. I just figured that he was _tied up_ doing his thing, you know?"

A strange feeling began to creep in the pit of Balthazar's stomach—a mild panicky feeling, overpowered by apprehension. He already knew all of this, of course. Rosiel had told him everything: from the note, to how Gabriel was ignoring her calls. He got the feeling that Rosiel was repeating all of this for Deborah's sake, and to also get her feelings off her chest to alleviate some of the stress that her Other-Half's disappearance was causing her.

To vent out her frustrations, you could say.

Deborah was silent as she stood beside Balthazar, but Balthazar could feel how clueless and confused she was, getting restless as the seconds ticked away, and Rosiel could feel it too. They needed to tell her—**now**; she needed to know everything, the longer they waited the more time they were losing, but at the same time Balthazar just wanted to wrap his wings around Deborah and take her far away from all of this mess, to shelter and protect her. She was just one girl, and he wanted her to live freely and carelessly, to enjoy her life without having to worry about someone always chasing after her—she was only twenty-two years old for crying aloud! She hadn't nearly lived long enough to have all of these problems on her shoulders.

"Gabriel is inside," spoke Rosiel suddenly, her voice taking on a haunted tone, "or what's left of him."

* * *

Deborah stared at her sister-in-law disbelievingly, her eyes going wide and her heart beating wildly in her chest. Again, they had traveled thousands of miles in the blink of an eye, this time the method of travel having been Rosiel's doing, which could only mean one thing… that she was an Angel of Heaven, like Balthazar claimed to be.

The thought of angels being real (her uncle and sister-in-law being two examples of them) unnerved Deborah, and she was skeptical too. The logical side of her brain wanted proof, she wanted facts and diagrams detailing how this could be even remotely feasible—even though the wings on her uncle's back could very well be considered enough to prove the existence of celestial beings, but it wasn't enough for Deborah. She wanted more…

Then there was the Dreamer, it was the other part of her brain, the part of her that wanted to believe angels were real despite how crazy it sounded. It was the Dreamer who always listened aptly to all the bedtime stories Gabriel would tell her in her youth, about dragons and witches and knights in shining white armor. About the troll under the bridge, and the unicorns in the woods, about how it was all real, and that she only needed to know where to look to see it.

She sometimes longed to live in a world of fantasy, for elves and magic to be real, but it seemed that now when the opportunity presented itself, she was hesitant to believe. It seemed too good to be true, and she didn't want to be disappointed.

Angels, Heaven, traveling faster than the speed of light and sound combined… it sounded like a dream.

These things didn't happen to her! She was just Deborah Messinger, your average twenty-two year old college student. She was no one special—the most exciting thing to have happened in her life was probably getting a backstage/VIP pass for _Sea World_ so she could feed and swim with the dolphins.

None of that mattered, though. The second Rosiel had mentioned Gabriel, Deborah pushed thoughts of angels out of her mind. She could dwell on that some other time. Her brother was more important.

First and foremost, Deborah was confused, utterly so, and triumphant all at once. She had **known** that Gabriel's disappearance meant something, that it was connected to the attack at the house… but she did not like Rosiel's words or her tone of voice. Nor did she like the expression on the redhead's face. What did she mean by: _Gabriel is inside, or what's left of him?_ Deborah, being a fan of horror movies, knew that the line "what's left of him/her" always meant the death of someone. Did that mean that Gabriel was…? **_No_**, surely it couldn't be true… he couldn't be… could he?

Gabriel was invincible. Nothing could touch him…

"Where's Gabriel," she asked softly, fearing the answer her brain was shouting at her.

Rosiel ignored her, refusing to meet her gaze, and Balthazar gave her a fleeting smile that never reached his eyes.

Deborah needed answers, and she needed them now despite the fact that a tiny voice in the back of her head was telling her she might not like what she found out once she stepped into the hotel. Still, she just needed to know—from a young age she'd been taught that family came first. Friends: they'd come and go as the years went by, but family was always there to support you, and she couldn't turn her back on her family—on Gabriel. If he was hurt, then she needed to be there to help him.

Taking the initiative, Deborah took a step forward, and then another, dragging herself up to the hotel's front doors. Her uncle and sister-in-law silently followed behind her, Balthazar's wings rustling with every step he took. Once stepping through the lavish threshold, Deborah paused, looking around the lobby.

There was no one at the front desk—the hotel was silent, devoid of any signs of life. The air was stale, and everything looked far too clean to be _real_.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Deborah unsurely, her blue eyes darting from left to right, sweeping the lobby for any signs of her brother… or something else. She had the feeling that this hotel was out of the way for a reason. Who in their right mind would put such a lavish place as this in the middle of nowhere on the side of an unmarked road? Something was up. This "hotel" was not meant to be a true hotel… it almost felt like the hotel was meant to be hidden…

Rosiel took in a deep breath, closing her eyes. The intake of air made Deborah stared at the redhead in confusion, but Balthazar gave her a knowing look. He knew what his twin was doing, he could practically feel it—she was letting her grace search for its Other-Half.

"I can't feel him," whimpered Rosiel after a moment of silence, opening her eyes, tears escaping her, "his grace isn't here… but his vessel is."

Balthazar's eyes widened immediately, and he quickly pulled his sister into a comforting embrace. If Gabriel's grace wasn't here but his vessel was… it could only mean one thing.

"Rosiel…" said Deborah carefully, almost hesitantly, "what are you talking about? What's going on?"

Breathing in a shuddering breath, Rosiel pulled away from Balthazar, raising her hands up to her eyes to wipe furiously away the tears that collected on her lashes.

"I can't… I can't explain it, not right now," said Rosiel softly. "I don't know all the facts… We need to find his vessel first… I need to check it."

Deborah furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean? His _vessel_? What are you talking about?"

Rosiel sighed, a torn look crossing her eyes, and Deborah could feel her heart speeding up, the sudden rush of blood making her feel dizzy. The look Rosiel was giving her was not good.

"What is going on?" she nearly demanded, her voice hitching. None of this was making any sense. Grace? Vessel? What the hell?

"Just trust me," said Rosiel simply, a haunted look in her bloodshot eyes. "I'll explain later… right now I need his vessel."

With that being said, Rosiel began walking through the lobby, taking off through a hallway off to the side.

"What…" Deborah said softly, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and desperation.

"C'mon, darling," said Balthazar, draping an arm around Deborah's shoulders. "Let's go."

Mechanically Deborah walked forward, allowing her uncle to lead her down the hallway that Rosiel had gone through—the stench of blood was sudden. Deborah and Balthazar nearly faltered in their steps as they entered the hallway; blood splattered the walls like if it had been sprayed from a bottle.

"Uncle," Deborah said quietly, her voice trembling, "tell me it's fake…"

"It's fake," said Balthazar unconvincingly, flaring out one of his wings to wrap around Deborah's shoulders, and therefore shield her eyes from the blood on the walls.

What the hell had happened…

"You're lying," mumbled Deborah, biting her lower lip.

Balthazar said nothing.

The hallway seemed to stretch on for forever, the blood on the walls becoming more frequent as Balthazar and Deborah walked further down. At one point, Balthazar caught sight of a lifeless body strewn across the hallway floor. Deborah had her face pressed against his chest, and so before she could see it, he blinked his eyes and the body vanished, leaving behind only a pool of blood on the carpeted floor—a pool of blood that he had to step over.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, they came across two large double doors that led into a vast conference room. Crossing the threshold blindly, Balthazar and Deborah were not at all prepared for the sight that awaited them.

Multiple bodies were strewn about carelessly on the floor, covered in blood, lifeless and cold. Tables were overturned, and a rather large, intricately designed crystal chandelier lay broken on the ground—it had fallen from the ceiling, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

A massacre had taken place in _Elysian Fields Hotel_.

Amongst all the turmoil, like a frozen marble statue, stood Rosiel, looking stricken. She was breathing deeply, taking in controlled breaths, and her eyes were trained on a lifeless figure on the floor. Balthazar quickly stepped toward his sister, bringing Deborah along with him, his wing never once leaving her shoulders so that she did not have to see the full extent of the massacre that had taken place in the room.

A sob left Deborah's lips as she caught sight of what—or rather _who_, Rosiel was standing over.

Gabriel, her goofy older brother, lay in a puddle of his own blood, his skin pale, his body crumpled in a rather uncomfortable position. There was a large spot of blood on his abdomen that looked like it was still bleeding out, and his face was peppered with small cuts and bruises, signaling that he'd been in some sort of fight.

But the most unsettling thing about seeing Gabriel on the floor, lying dead, were the two wing imprints that were burned underneath him, singed into the carpet outstretching from his shoulder blades, posed like a bird ready to take flight. They were large, and Deborah immediately compared them to Balthazar's wings.

"He's an angel…," she cried softly, realization hitting her like a tidal wave.

"He is," said Rosiel softly, her eyes never leaving Gabriel's body.

"Is he… he's not dead, is he?" asked Deborah, finding it hard to breath. "He can't be…"

Angel or not, Deborah didn't care about that—at least not right now, anyway. She could deal with that later, but right now, she wanted to know if her brother was alive—even though his lifeless body crumpled before her was enough proof that he was dead. But he couldn't be—she refused to believe that he was dead. He was strong, nothing could kill him—he was her guardian angel (the thought now made her wince).

Gabriel Messinger could not be dead! He was far too stubborn to die.

Rosiel said nothing. Rather, she crouched down, placing a shaking hand on the center of Gabriel's chest. Nothing happened for a few seconds; she remained motionless, hovering over her beloved's body, but then there was a sudden glowing white light that came from underneath her hand. The light lasted for only a few seconds before it dimmed, and then went out completely, and Rosiel sighed… an almost relieved sighed, Deborah noted.

"His grace is gone," said Rosiel softly, lifting her hand from Gabriel's chest and standing up, "Lucifer did this—there's a trace of him here, but only just."

"Lucifer, like the Devil?" asked Deborah, eyes wide open in disbelief. Things were getting crazier by the second, but the logical side of her mind told her that it only made sense. If there were angels, then that meant that there was a God, and that God had created Lucifer—the Devil.

It made Deborah wonder just how much truth were behind all those fairy tales Gabriel used to tell her.

"Yeah, the Devil," mumbled Rosiel angrily.

"Did he—did he kill—"

"Gabriel is **not** dead, no. His grace has just left his vessel," said Rosiel with a sigh.

"How can you be sure?" asked Balthazar gravely.

Rosiel's lip twitched. "It's like you and I. Our graces are identical—it's what makes us twins. If you were to die, I would feel it. Since my grace is tied to Gabriel's because he's my Other-Half, I'd feel it—and I don't feel **anything**. Nothing at all, which means that he's not dead, but only just blocking me out, like I did with you earlier. Besides, there's the obvious—there's only one pair of wings on the ground."

To prove her point, Rosiel pointed down to the charged imprints of wings on the floor.

"What do you mean?" asked Deborah, sniffling. She had no idea what Rosiel was talking about, but the obvious was that Gabriel was still alive, and that was a huge relief.

"He's an angel, Deborah," said Rosiel with a small smile, "but not just any angel—the **Archangel** Gabriel."

It only took a second for Deborah's brain to register the name, and when she did, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head with how wide they had gotten.

"And do you know what Gabriel is famous for?" Rosiel continued, relief glittering in her eyes.

"He's God's messenger," answer Deborah automatically.

"Yes… and to be God's messenger, you gotta be the fastest angel—"

"—and you can't be the fastest angel with only one pair of wings," interrupted Balthazar, his eyes widening with realization as he looked down at the imprint of wings on the carpet.

There was only one pair.

Gabriel had three—six golden wings.

"I'll be damned," said Balthazar with a small smile, "he tricked Lucifer..."

* * *

**AN:** I honestly believe that Gabriel is still alive, and so I decided to include in my story my reason for why he's still alive.  
Call it wishful thinking. *shrugs*


	6. King of the Crossroads

The hotel was burning—Rosiel, it seemed, had a penchant for making things go up in flames. However, after everything that had happened within the hotel's walls, burning it down was the only viable option. Far too many things had happened within those walls, things that never should be spoken of, and the only way to achieve that was to get rid of it in the only effective way that Rosiel knew how—by burning it down to the ground. Come first light the only thing left of the hotel would be ash, and that was perfect.

Standing in the parking lot, Rosiel stared up at the burning building, her arms crossed across her chest and a manic glint in her eyes. Before the burning, the hotel had been searched thoroughly, though all that had been found were traces of a blood-bond… _three_ blood-bonds, to be precise—one being between Gabriel and Kali. It burned Rosiel down to the core to know that the Goddess had had that much power over Gabriel—a blood-bond was meant to keep the recipient tied to the dominant, and in this case the dominant had been Kali and the recipient had been Gabriel. The Goddess had used Gabriel's blood to tie him to her, and therefore she had had him on a rather short leash.

There was only a certain amount of feet Gabriel could be apart from Kali while being tied to her through the blood-bond, which made Rosiel think that maybe if the bond hadn't been in place, Gabriel wouldn't have had to stay and fight. He could have left, he could have avoided all of this mess, but of course, Kali had to sink her claws into him and ruin things…

That, however, was a story for another time, one that Rosiel wanted to know down to the very last detail, which would mean getting into contact with the other two recipients of Kali's blood-bond. That would come later though—primarily, she and her brother needed to get Deborah into one of their safe houses. There was time to find out everything that had happened in that conference room later.

The fluttering of wings alerted Rosiel to her brother's presence, and with a soft sigh, she turned to look up at him. Balthazar looked haggard, his wings (which were still out for all to see) drooping behind him tiredly.

Angels did not tire; mortal discomforts did not bother them, and so for Balthazar to look ready to drop dead and sleep for days, it meant that this whole ordeal was beginning to get to him on a mental (and possibly spiritual) level.

"I've left Deborah at _Villa Rosa_," informed Balthazar. "I do believe she fainted… I can't be sure, I left the moment I gave her the security codes."

Rosiel's lip twitched. Villa Rosa was by far her favorite safe house—it had been a gift from Balthazar, actually. The villa was situated over a hill that overlooked one of Tuscany's finest beaches. It was all red bricks and ivy covered walls, with a farm house behind the main property that had been converted into a guest house.

"So I take it we're headed for Italy," Rosiel said with a small smirk.

"For the time being, yes," replied Balthazar simply.

Rosiel nodded, and then said casually, "I've taken care of Gabriel's vessel."

To that, Balthazar arched a curious eyebrow.

"You know how attached to that particular vessel Gabriel was," explained Rosiel with a sigh, running a hand through her red hair, "I assume that when he… _gets back_ from wherever he's at, he'll want his old vessel and not some new one. It's his _true_ vessel after all, any other vessel will simply burn up, so I took care of—I took… I…"

Rosiel drew in a sharp breath, her tears breaking free from her hold and rolling down her cheeks.

"I understand," Balthazar said quietly, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder. Slowly he pulled her into an embrace, his feathers ruffling as he opened his wings and drew them around his twin, encasing her in a protective cocoon.

Brother and sister stayed silent for a moment, the only sound being that of wood creaking as the fire licked at the building's walls. A strong breeze blew past them, though none of them felt the stinging cold that came and went with the wind. They did feel, however, the presence of another being in the parking lot with them.

It smelled like sulfur and… _Craig_. There was only one person—demon more like it, that smelled like Craig…

"Well, isn't this touching," a slight Scottish brogue cooed from somewhere behind them.

Balthazar and Rosiel were immediately on the alert. Separating, they both drew their angel blades, scowls on their faces as they stared down at the demon that had suddenly joined them.

"Crowley," hissed Rosiel, her blue eyes narrowing.

Crowley was slight in stature—or at least his meatsuit was—with clear eyes and dark hair and wearing one of those damned expensive suits that only he was known to wear.

"_Rosiel_," Crowley mimicked, an amused smirk on his lips.

"What do you want?"

"Always getting straight to the point—I like that," Crowley chuckled, taking a step towards the Twins.

"I wouldn't advise getting any closer," Balthazar quietly threatened, his hand squeezing his blade in anticipation, his wings quickly disappearing behind him.

"Right, well," muttered Crowley, the playful smirk disappearing from his face as a very serious expression crossed his features, "to the purpose of my visit: I know about your _dirty little secret_—all of Hell knows about it, mind you, so a secret it really isn't. You've got a hoard of demons and hellhounds on your tail right now—even the Big Man himself is out searching, so I'm here to offer my services."

It was silent for a moment. Rosiel and Balthazar stared down at the demon before them, both of their eyes scrutinizing. This had to be a joke. Crowley, _King of the Crossroads_, did not go around "offering his services" without expecting something in return.

A deal with a demon was the last thing that Rosiel and Balthazar needed or wanted.

"Thanks, but no thanks," replied Rosiel shortly.

"We'll manage on our own," added Balthazar testily.

"Yes, because you've been doing a fabulous job of it so far," said Crowley sardonically, rolling his eyes.

"Look," answered Rosiel abruptly, "I know you—you don't go around offering your services for free. You expect payment, so what the hell do you want?"

"I want Hell," said Crowley simply. "If you're dear little _Debbie_ gets killed off before she can do something about her dearest older brother, then we're all—for lack of a better word—fucked."

"You want Hell?" asked Balthazar in disbelief, "Just like that?"

Crowley shrugged.

"This is crazy," mumbled Rosiel. "You can't just… Hell… Fuck, I don't even know."

To that, Crowley chuckled. "So, what do you say?"

"This is not a deal," said Rosiel firmly.

"It'll be off the record," assured Crowley with a nod.

"How would you help us?"

"As King of the Crossroads, I hold a strong influence over a very large number of demons," Crowley began to explain. "They will be at your beck and call so long as your dearest Debbie gets the job done."

"What about the Winchesters?" asked Rosiel, "I know that they're trying to put Lucifer back in his cage—"

"Your Debbie stands a better chance of accomplishing that then those two idiots," said Crowley quickly, "after all, Lucifer himself is personally searching for his dearest little twin—I'm placing my bets on her, though the Winchesters are doing a good enough job of giving you two some time to get the ball rolling."

_Can we trust him_, Balthazar's voice echoed in his sister's thoughts.

_We'll have too._

"Alright—"

"Excellent—"

"I have conditions!" exclaimed Rosiel, making Crowley roll his eyes, but nod his head nonetheless. "Your demons are to stay away from Deborah. I want no direct contact with her. Should we get attacked or… whatever, your demons are to handle it while me and Balthazar make sure Deborah is taken care of."

"You got it," said Crowley with a smile, "my demons will keep watch from the shadows… though I would recommend having Growley with her at all times, just in case. I've got to protect my investments after all."

"Growley?" asked Rosiel incredulously.

Crowley smiled widely. "You'll see," he said, before licking his lips, and whistling.


End file.
